


Welsh Blessings

by itstonedme



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up of sorts to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/973051%22"><i>Going Big</i></a>, although this story stands alone.  Inspired by photos of Luke Evans visiting Orlando in NYC last November when they both attended Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart's theatre opening of <i>No Man's Land/Waiting For Godot</i>, followed closely by the L.A. premiere of <i>The Desolation of Smaug</i>.   "Bach" used in the story is a Welsh term of endearment, usually for children.  First posted on LJ <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/97844.html#cutid1">here</a>.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: Fiction, conjecture, lies.  There is no truth in any of this.</p>
<p>Feedback: Always appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welsh Blessings

It's been eighteen months, give or take, since Orlando wrapped principal on _The Hobbit._ Since then, he's been busy, really busy, selling ice cream, repping airlines, lending his face to environmental causes, lending his bare ass to a South African film, and doing _Hobbit_ pickups. 

Mostly, he's been busy loving his boy. He's been working at saving his marriage too, but despite the efforts or maybe because of them, it's gone south, which is sad. No matter the reasons, a failed marriage is always sad.

During the sadness, salvation has come in the form of theatre work. It's where he wanted to start when his career was young and it's to where he has finally returned. It has been a gift in many ways, not the least of which has been to put him in charge of his mouth (but not necessarily his tongue, which likes to swipe and flirt in public during all manner of conversational discourse). However, between the discipline of the stage and parenthood, he's finally become able to articulate the maturity that has inevitably graced his years. Ian was right about theatre being the actor's true soul and grounding, but then Ian is right about most things.

And so has been Luke, bless him. Unlike Ian, whose stature and achievement is too great a stretch for Orlando at the moment, Orlando can identify with Luke. They're the same age, have grown up under the same influences. McKellen is a noble aspiration, yes, but it's tough to find the handholds when parsing such a long career. Luke, however, has followed the trajectory that Orlando should have followed, minus the musical training, that is. It is easy for Orlando to study Luke's path, especially since, being a Buddhist, paths are clear. He and Luke even look alike. Well, sort of. Add or subtract the clipped Welsh, and between the rugged lines of one and the dewy glow of the other, they could play brothers. Maybe one day they'll get the chance.

So when the publicity machine is underway for the release of _Smaug_ at the same time that the seats are starting to grow cold on his Broadway debut and his wife exits stage left, Orlando reaches out to Luke for career conversation, social distraction and a little brotherly bonding. It seems opportune: Ian's in town performing in not one but two plays that alternate daily. Having Theatre Luke beside him while they watch Theatre Ian is simply too much of a good thing to pass up on. Besides, Orlando has an empty bedroom for putting up his guest. Not his own, of course, although there is that.

* 

"Mate," Orlando grins, python-hugging Luke in the foyer of his New York flat after Luke's been escorted in by the driver Orlando sent to collect him at the airport. They backslap amid burly pleasantries until Luke's eyes find Orlando's son hiding at his nanny's knees further down the hallway.

"Hey, _bach_ ," Luke says, disengaging so that he can crouch next to Orlando. "Do you remember me?"

The child plays coy, face tucked behind a pant leg, one eye watching. There's a plastic sword hanging loosely in one hand.

"That's a great sword," Luke smiles.

Like a light switch, the boy takes one step forward, expression stern, and starts slashing, his mouth going a million miles a minute, telling Luke how it kills dragons and saves people and makes very bad people very, very afraid.

"Eats with it, sleeps with it, pees with it," Orlando tells Luke. "What's the name of your sword, sweetheart?" he asks his son.

" _Scalbuh!_ " the boy cries out.

Luke glances up so that Orlando can mouth something to him. " _Excalibur_ ," Luke says, eyes wide. "You have a very mighty and special sword. May I touch it to feel its magic?"

Holding the sword steady with both hands, the child advances slowly, and like Briar Rose with the spindle, Luke reaches out and puts his finger to the tip. "In my country, we call it _Caledfwlch_ ," Luke says before closing his eyes and solemnly blessing the sword in Welsh. When he opens his eyes, he whispers, "Can you feel the magic?" and the boy nods vigorously, eyes just as round, before turning and fleeing down the hallway in search of dragons. 

"When are you going to make one of your own?" Orlando smiles, nodding towards his son as Luke straightens.

"Not as easy for me as it was for you," Luke grins back.

*

Luke pals with Orlando for a few days. It can't be a long visit because Orlando is committed to the daily stage and to being a dad. When they're not child walking or _Smaug_ prepping, they are engaged with their own agents and teams, always working their mobiles and tablets, walking around the flat with Orlando's staff and mutual friends rotating in and out. Orlando would like to take Luke to a few clubs to meet up with some friends, but Luke's not a club type, at least not the kinds of clubs Orlando's been showing his newly-single self off at. And they don't have a lot of time.

Ian's show is amazing. Good lord, but the man is a machine! Pinter and Beckett, talk about heavy lifting. Orlando and Luke mob with Liv Tyler backstage afterwards. Luke catches a glimpse of the ties that have bound the _Rings_ cast, now well over a decade gone. He wonders, as he watches Orlando with his tribe, if the _Hobbit_ clan will be as tight ten years on. He suspects not – the _Hobbit_ cohort is an older group. There's less coming-of-age cohesiveness that marks friendships formed in the bud of adulthood. But he enjoys seeing Orlando with his old crones, and Liv is lovely.

"That's my dream," Luke says of Ian as he and Orlando are driven back to the flat. "To be in my 70s, matching wits and words on stage with a dear friend."

"Did you see the energy in his eyes?" Orlando asks, amazed. 

"There's no question he's a man of considerable vigor and vitality."

Orlando finds something within that observation telling. "You ever?" he asks, fishing. 

"I don't kiss and tell, Orlando," Luke grins.

Once they're back at the flat, the sitter is let go and drinks get poured. Luke's leaving in the morning. "It's been good having you here," Orlando says, settling across from him.

"You've got a busy household."

"Yeah, a real road show," Orlando sighs. "Who knew that a child required so many handlers?"

Luke takes a sip. He's the quiet Beatle to Orlando's Mick Jagger, more contained and considered, less demonstrative. "It's not just the child though, is it," he says.

Orlando smiles, his chin coming up. "Nah. That was part of the problem, the constant air traffic. What about you? You've got a bird on the go, I hear. How's that working out?"

"Friend," Luke replies.

"Good enough to parent with?" Luke raises his brows to this. "Come on!" Orlando laughs.

Luke's grin broadens into an immense smile. "This is what I've noticed," he says, sitting up a little. "When someone becomes part of a couple, they want all their friends to pair off. When they have a wee one, they want all their friends to have wee ones."

"Because it's amazing!"

"I can see that. You're a good _tad_."

"It's the most important thing I'll ever do."

"It is," Luke agrees. "But it's not in my cards."

Orlando sighs. "So, besides the friendly bird, anyone else on the go?"

"Nope," Luke says, eyes smiling.

*

They meet up again a short week later in L.A. for the world premiere. Orlando is flying solo on this trip, which promises to be a whirlwind. He could book in at his cousin's but instead, he checks into the hotel where most of the cast are staying because time is short and it promises to be wall-to-wall _Smaug_. He's got thirty-six hours to himself but nearly all of it is locked up. He tapes a talk show, suits up, hits the red carpet, kisses a hundred cheeks and a few more mouths, and one of them belongs to Luke. 

And this time, it involves Orlando's flirtatious tongue, except on this outing, there's very little conversational discourse.

It starts like this: Cast and crew hit the after-party and proceed to get smashed. Stories are told, jokes are made, legs get pulled, dances get danced, PJ gets roasted. It is an out-and-out frat party. Full-stop. Emphasis on the "out."

Cut to Orlando wandering the halls at three a.m. He's been room-hopping with a few dwarves in tow, but they keep losing each other and by now, he's staggering the corridor on his floor alone, silly grin affixed, wondering where to go next. He's loathe to pack it in; he hasn't had a night to himself since he left New Zealand at the start of the summer. He's got a Broadway show that's folding its tent in less than a week and zip/nada/fuck-all on the horizon. It is waaaay too early for bed.

At the far end of the hall, the fire door from the stairwell opens and through it comes Luke, all dapper in his light grey pinstripe and slicked back widow's peak, returning from his own carousing on another floor. Unlike Orlando, he's not looking any worse for wear. One hand is shoved into his trouser pocket, the other turned out towards Orlando as he approaches, like, brother-my-brother. 

"Thank fuck," Orlando laughs from at least four doors down, but Luke just grins and says nothing on the odd chance that at this hour, there may be a few folks on this floor actually sleeping. 

Orlando is all draping appendages once he meets up with Luke, mashing his cheek with kisses, arms slung over his shoulders, leaning more than standing and begging Luke not to bail on him, the night is just getting _good_ , yeah?

"You drink like a sloppy Texan," Luke observes. 

"I'm such a fucking lightweight," Orlando laughs, resting his forehead on Luke's shoulder. 

"You're going to regret this tomorrow," Luke says.

"Fucking right," Orlando agrees, relocating his forehead to rest against Luke's so that he can breathe all over his face.

"You really should call it," Luke suggests.

"Don't put me to bed," Orlando whines. "I'll be good, daddy, I promise."

Luke chuckles and throws his arm around Orlando's shoulder. "All right," he says, "One for the road. Come on."

They make it in a fairly civilized path to Luke's doorway, the key card working on the first scrub, and are into the room, the door shutting itself behind them, when Orlando, who has now got the wall at his back, says, "Then again, you could put me to bed."

Luke smiles for a second, throwing the card on the hall console, before he looks back at Orlando, who is now regarding him with far less of a smile than had been there a moment ago. "You're drunk," he says.

"Yup," Orlando agrees, not moving from the wall. "But not that drunk."

"You don't want to have this conversation," Luke says, unbuttoning his jacket and walking into the living area. He motions to the wet bar. "Help yourself." He works the knot on his tie and keeps walking through to the bedroom so that he can get out of his shirt.

Orlando pushes off the wall and goes to the fridge, bending down to study his options and pulling out a soda. He snaps the tab and downs half of it, belching loud and long when he's done.

"Feel better?" Luke asks, coming back into the room, pulling a soft jersey over his head. "I'll have one." 

Orlando retrieves a second can and passes it to him before he removes his own tie and pockets it. Luke drops onto the couch and pops the lid.

"Who's to know?" Orlando says.

"We are," Luke replies before hauling from the can.

"And how is that a problem?" Orlando says. 

"It's not," Luke says. "In principle." 

"Good," Orlando says, pushing off the bar and walking to the couch. "Shove over," he says, setting his can on the coffee table. He strips off his suit jacket and throws it to the far end of the couch, then straddles Luke, seating himself on his lap. He takes the can from Luke's hand and sets in on the side table.

It takes Luke a moment before he can bring his eyes to Orlando's.

"That's right," Orlando says. "I know that you and I could do this. I knew that back in New Zealand, and so did you. We don't have the ties now that we had then."

"I don't like drunken sex," Luke says.

"Oh really?" Orlando laughs. "Not enough romance? Do you think we won't respect each other in the morning? I'm not looking to have your babies, Luke. I'm looking to have your cock."

Against his better judgment, the corner of Luke's mouth twitches at that. It's not the only thing that twitches.

"Yeah," Orlando breathes, head dipping down and lips finding the pulse point beneath Luke's jaw. "Fuck the drama. I'm horny, you look good – you've _always_ looked good – and I know for a fact that I'll respect you, might even keep liking your sorry arse come dawn."

Luke huffs a laugh as his hands settle on Orlando's hips. "You probably can't even get it up right now. All talk, no cock."

Orlando's mouth travels up to Luke's, his tongue lapping out to trace right under the thin moustache it finds there. "I don't think so. If you touch the tip, you might even feel the magic. I'm especially hoping you'll bless it in Welsh."

Luke barks out a laugh at that. "You talk a good line."

"Well, if I can't give any action, we can at least make out like we're at a Texas drive-in," Orlando breathes, "until I pass out."

He doesn't pass out, though, and neither does Luke. They make out like a pair of teens on the couch until they stumble to the bedroom where Luke is proven right – Orlando needs an inordinate amount of foreplay to stand loud and proud before first taking it in the ass and then returning the compliment. As they sprawl face down on the mattress, dawn breaking in the eastern sky, Orlando murmurs to Luke's flagging eyelids, "I may have fucked myself sober."

"That's nice," Luke mumbles, exhausted. "I was hoping you might have fucked yourself to sleep."

"You rather I split?"

Luke opens an eye and smiles feebly. "No."

"Good. Great party last night."

Luke re-opens his eye. "Are you going to keep talking? That right there might kill any respect I may have been harboring."

Orlando grins and closes his eyes.


End file.
